


Here Is Your Verse

by michaelandthegodsquad



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst and Humor, Dating, Demiromantic Sakusa Kiyoomi, F/M, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Other, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Speed Dating, Unreliable Narrator, Vers Miya Atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-16 12:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michaelandthegodsquad/pseuds/michaelandthegodsquad
Summary: “Omi, I think we should stop this,” Atsumu says.“I’m almost done brushing my teeth,” Kiyoomi mumbles around the toothbrush.“Nah Omi, I mean the hookups. We gotta stop.”Kiyoomi pauses. “Oh.” It’s odd, but it’s not like Atsumu’s bad choices regarding his sex life are any of Kiyoomi’s business.OR: Atsumu ends his FWB arrangement with Kiyoomi for reasons Kiyoomi doesn’t care to understand, until he suddenly Cares Very Much.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 96
Kudos: 812
Collections: SakuAtsu Fics for Midterm Procrastination





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thanks to [Dindi](https://twitter.com/dindie__) for the amazing beta work and the lovely [fic graphic](https://twitter.com/mikeandgodsquad/status/1346675783402737667?s=19)! And to my irl friends who have little idea who any of these characters are but were great cheerleaders nonetheless.
> 
> Title is from FOB's Dead on Arrival since apparently I can be consistent occasionally.
> 
> Let's just...pretend the v.league season lasts into spring, okay?

Kiyoomi corrects him the first time he says it. 

"Y'know, Omi," Atsumu says, sitting up on the edge of Kiyoomi's bed and stretching his arms above his head before bending to reach for his shirt, rumpled in a pile on the floor. "This whole 'friends with benefits' thing might just work out after all." 

It's only the second or third time, maybe, when they've just begun learning each other's tells and feeling out how to tip the scales. It starts as something convenient and mutually beneficial, but it’s still new and—if Kiyoomi lets himself be honest—exciting, a secret that makes his blood thrum fast and hot in his veins when he thinks about it too much.

"We're barely friends, Miya," Kiyoomi mutters. He resists the itch to begin stripping the bed before Atsumu has even finished dressing. 

Atsumu's hair sticks out in all directions when his head pops through the neck hole of his shirt and he glances back at Kiyoomi. "Just beneficiaries, then?" he says, mouth slanted into that irritating trademark smirk.

Kiyoomi  _ doesn't  _ roll his eyes. "Sure."

Six months later, Kiyoomi maintains that he and Atsumu are not friends. He’s still in bed, scrolling mindlessly on his phone when Motoya calls him. Kiyoomi glances over at Atsumu’s sleeping form, a lump in his bed obscured by piled-on blankets, and sighs as he swipes to accept the call but doesn’t say anything right away, swinging his legs over the side of the bed before standing.

He’s at the door when he finally presses the phone to his ear. “Good morning,” he says quietly, hand on the door handle.

Motoya is entirely too cheerful for this early in the morning when he hums. “You’re quieter than usual. Is the boyfriend still sleeping?” Kiyoomi frowns, stepping out into the hallway, quietly pulling the bedroom door shut again behind him.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kiyoomi reminds him for what feels like the hundredth time. He lifts his free hand above his head in a stretch and makes his way to the kitchen, flicking on the kettle. Motoya is one of the few people who knows about his and Atsumu’s—what? Arrangement?—and Kiyoomi has not known a moment of peace since he figured it out.

Motoya’s laugh is light as it rings down the phone line. “Right, right. Anyway, I’m booking a hotel for Kaori’s wedding, do you want to split it?”

Kiyoomi hums. “I suppose,” he says, putting the call on speaker as he pours rice into the cooker. “I still don’t understand why we need to go all the way to Hokkaido.” 

Motoya snorts. “You don’t understand why someone would want to get married in Hokkaido in the spring?” 

Kiyoomi shrugs, pulling fish and tofu out of the refrigerator and setting them on the counter. “Just seems like an unnecessary hassle, making us all trek up there.” 

“I think it’s nice! Think of it as a vacation.”

Kiyoomi considers the sheer number of people who will likely be at his sister’s wedding and frowns. “It’s not quite what I’d choose for a vacation.” He sets a grill pan onto the stove and begins to warm it just as he hears the bedroom door open, a familiar yawn echoing in the hallway. Kiyoomi grabs the jar of sencha from the counter, measuring a few teaspoons into two diffusers.

“G’morning, Omi,” Atsumu says with another yawn, scratching his stomach as he drags his feet into the kitchen. He eyes Kiyoomi’s phone on the counter and leans down towards it. “G’morning, Komori-kun,” he says.

“Good morning, Atsumu-kun!” Motoya answers, still too cheerfully. He and Atsumu chatter for a few moments as Kiyoomi reaches into a cabinet for two mugs, frowning. 

“Miya, is your mug still on the coffee table?” he says, moving other cups aside.

“Oh, it might be. Lemme go grab it.” Atsumu shuffles into the living room while Kiyoomi pours hot water into his own mug. Motoya hums down the line. 

“What,” Kiyoomi says, more than asks.

“Nothing,” Motoya answers, but there’s a lilt to his voice that Kiyoomi doesn’t trust. “I’ve gotta get going,” he says, just as Atsumu steps back into the kitchen and sets his Vabo-chan mug on the counter next to Kiyoomi’s, mumbling thanks when Kiyoomi pours water over the leaves. “I’ll send you the hotel info.”

“Sounds good.” The phone beeps as Motoya hangs up the call, leaving the kitchen quiet while Atsumu grabs miso paste and dashi from the fridge and a pot from the cabinet. 

“You and Komori-kun going on vacation?” Atsumu asks. Kiyoomi passes the kettle to him, and he begins working on soup. 

“Not quite,” Kiyoomi mumbles, setting the fish onto the grill pan. “Kaori is dragging us all to Hokkaido for her wedding. Motoya and I are splitting a hotel room.”

Atsumu coos under his breath, pulling a knife out of the block and beginning to cut the tofu into cubes, dropping them into the broth. “That sounds nice. When is it?”

“Early April, I think?” Kiyoomi glances at the MSBY calendar stuck to the refrigerator door. “About two and a half months. I’ll need to get a suit soon so the alterations can be done in time.” He pokes at the fish with hashi, and Atsumu opens the cabinet nearest to him, grabbing a plate and handing it to Kiyoomi, who nods and begins plating the fish.

Atsumu is uncharacteristically quiet as he stirs the soup, reaching over to turn off the burner under the grill pan. “You taking anyone else?” he asks. There’s a faux casualness to his tone that Kiyoomi doesn’t ask about.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “No, Kaori and Ichiro are not allowing children or any plus ones who aren’t significant others.” The switch on the rice cooker clicks, and Kiyoomi grabs his paddle. Atsumu reaches into the same cabinet and passes two small bowls to Kiyoomi.

“Oh,” Atsumu says, nodding. “Right. Gotcha.” He grabs two more bowls and begins serving the soup. He’s less chatty than usual as they settle in at the table for breakfast. Kiyoomi chalks it up to fatigue from their late night and nearly suggests that Astumu take a nap before they head out for afternoon practice, but Atsumu quickly ducks into the bedroom, emerging dressed and ready to go back to his apartment before Kiyoomi has a chance. 

“I’ll see you at practice, Omi-kun,” Atsumu calls out from the genkan, and Kiyoomi nods at him from the couch.

“See you there, Miya.” Kiyoomi shakes his head at the dirty plates still laid out over the table and begins cleaning up as the front door shuts.

-

Atsumu has barely caught his breath, one night later that week, when he climbs off Kiyoomi’s lap and begins redressing. 

Kiyoomi raises one eyebrow. “Leaving already?” he asks, reaching for his own underwear and stepping into them before making his way to the en suite bathroom.

“Yeah,” Atsumu answers, his voice muffled as he pulls his hoodie over his head. “I’ve got a, uh. Thing.”

Kiyoomi nods but doesn’t ask, washing his hands. “Okay.” He vaguely hears Atsumu shuffling around the bedroom, a drawer opening and shutting, followed by the closet door. Kiyoomi is brushing his teeth when Atsumu appears in the bathroom doorway, his arms laden with all of the clothes he’d been keeping in Kiyoomi’s bedroom. Kiyoomi bends and spits into the sink.

“What’s all that?” he asks, locking eyes with Atsumu’s reflection in the mirror as he continues brushing his teeth.

“S’my stuff,” Atsumu says. He averts his eyes with a sigh. “Omi, I think we should stop this,” he says after a moment.

Kiyoomi hums. “I’m almost done brushing my teeth,” he mumbles around the toothbrush. 

That gets a quick, rough laugh out of Atsumu. “Nah Omi, I mean the hookups. We gotta stop.”

Kiyoomi pauses. “Oh.” He spits the last of the toothpaste into the sink and holds a hand up, gesturing for Atsumu to wait as he rinses his mouth. When he’s done, he turns, leaning back against the vanity, arms crossed over his bare chest. “That’s fine,” he says with a nod, and doesn’t pay any mind to the strange churning in his gut. He’ll take an antacid after Atsumu leaves. “What made you change your mind?”

He watches tension bleed from Atsumu’s shoulders, as if he was expecting some resistance on Kiyoomi’s part. Odd. It’s not like Atsumu’s—admittedly bad—choices regarding his sex life are any of Kiyoomi’s business.

“I’m just, uh,” Atsumu says, shifting the weight of his clothes to one arm as he rubs at the back of his neck. It’s a nervous tick that Kiyoomi isn’t used to seeing on Atsumu. “I don’t think it’s workin’?” Atsumu says after a moment. He smiles, but it feels strange. “It’s not enough for me anymore, Omi.”

Kiyoomi can’t quite stop his mouth from curling into a smirk. “You say that as if you weren’t just whining in my lap a few minutes ago,” he says.

He almost misses the way Atsumu’s shoulders tense up again at that, the way his usually cocky smirk shifts for just a moment to something more akin to a teeth-grinding grimace before he schools his expression back into something neutral, palatable but ultimately disingenuous. Kiyoomi wonders when he started to be able to tell the difference.

“Yer funny, Omi,” he says, giving Kiyoomi an indecipherable look before sighing. “I’m gonna head out now. See ya at practice on Monday.” Kiyoomi nods, waving to Atsumu as he steps out of the bathroom doorway. He turns on the shower as he hears some movement in the kitchen, but doesn’t step into the stall until he hears the front door shut behind Atsumu.

The next morning, Atsumu’s Vabo-chan mug isn’t in the cabinet when Kiyoomi makes his tea.

-

Kiyoomi is sure he wasn’t supposed to hear the conversation. He’d been on his way home a few minutes ago, but the beginnings of rain had forced him to turn around to grab his spare umbrella from his locker. He’s just about to round the corner towards the gym when he hears the beginnings of the conversation. 

“Is Akaashi-kun visiting soon?” Atsumu’s voice echoes down the hallway, slightly out of breath. Probably at the water fountain just outside the gym, from the sounds of it.

A hum from Bokuto. “Next weekend! One of his mangakas lives in the area and he needs to meet with ‘em, I think, so we’re gonna spend the weekend together.”

“That’s real nice, Bokkun,” Atsumu says, quieter, and then—“Does he know a lot of people in Osaka?”

“A few I think? Why?”

An uncharacteristic pause from Atsumu. “Do ya think he could set me up with someone?”

Kiyoomi nearly skids to a stop, pulling himself back before he turns the corner where he hears Atsumu and Bokuto talking. What the hell is Atsumu on about now?

Bokuto laughs, loud and boisterous as always. “Never seen you have trouble finding a hookup before, Tsumu.” Kiyoomi hears their voices trail off as they enter the gym, and he finally turns the corner, heading somewhat slowly in their direction. He’s not following them or eavesdropping, this just also happens to be the way to the locker room, and he's not in any rush. That’s all.

“M’not lookin’ for a hookup, Bokkun.” Atsumu’s voice lowers into something softer than Kiyoomi is used to. Kiyoomi stops just outside of the half-open gym door and waits, because it would be rude to just walk in and interrupt Atsumu and Bokuto's conversation. 

“I want what you and Akaashi-kun have. Y’know, the whole…" There's a pause after Atsumu trails off, and Kiyoomi imagines that he's probably waving his hand like he often does when he can't find the words he's looking for. “Happy ending," is what Atsumu settles on. "And not the gross kind," he adds after a moment, and Kiyoomi rolls his eyes before he processes the words and he hums under his breath.

"Ooh," Bokuto responds, followed by the sound of a ball cart—the one with the squeaky wheel, by the sound of it—being dragged across the court. "You looking to settle down, Tsumu?" 

A loud  _ thump _ , then a quiet grunt from Atsumu, likely a victim of one of Bokuto's friendly pats on the back that still have enough power to knock the wind out of you, if you're not ready for it. Bokuto huffs out a laugh and a quiet apology. 

"Maybe," Atsumu says. "Depends on the person, but I figure I gotta try to meet 'em first." Kiyoomi makes out the sound of a ball being dribbled on the floor before Atsumu says, "Anyway, ya ready, Bokkun?"

Upon Bokuto's excited agreement, followed by the sounds of sneakers scuffling on the floor, Kiyoomi waits a beat and opens the gym door, offering a quick wave to Bokuto and Atsumu as he passes through to the locker room, and they wave back before continuing their extra practice. Kiyoomi puts their overheard conversation out of his mind, concluding that it's none of his business.

-

It's not until a week later, when half the team is gathered at Bokuto's apartment after practice to watch the Falcons vs. Raijins game, that Kiyoomi gives what he heard any further thought. Well, any deliberate further thought, anyway. The memory has crossed his mind just a couple of times, mostly as Kiyoomi goes on his morning runs.

Or sometimes as he drives to practice. Maybe occasionally as he eyes Atsumu from across the gym during water breaks...

And, okay, sometimes he thinks about it during showers after practice when he can still hear Atsumu's laughter ringing out from the locker room. Or while Kiyoomi buys groceries or drives home or cooks dinner for himself. 

Oh, there is that one time he forgets to bring his earbuds to the gym while he does some weight training. And one evening while he's stretched out on his couch trying to read before bed.

And most nights, as he stares up at his bedroom ceiling while sleep evades him until only sheer exhaustion forces Kiyoomi's eyes closed.

But other than that he tries not to pay it any mind, really, and the only reason he even retains it at all is because it was such a strange request on Atsumu's part. Kiyoomi couldn't put his finger on exactly why it's strange, but he knows it is. 

Anyway. Bokuto's apartment is surprisingly clean, but Kiyoomi figures that has something to do with the guest seated on the center of the couch with a laptop in his lap while everyone seems to crowd around him.

"Oh, hello Akaashi-san," Kiyoomi says as he enters. "I didn't know you'd be here," he lies. 

Akaashi nods. "Sakusa-san. I'm in the area for work." Kiyoomi nods back as if this is new information while Bokuto leans over the back of the couch, putting his weight on his elbows as he rests his chin on top of Akaashi's head to stare at the laptop screen. Atsumu offers him a small wave from where he's seated to Akaashi's left, while Hinata leans in from Akaashi's right, Inunaki squished onto the same cushion as he also looks on while Akaashi types.

"Are we watching the game on the laptop?" Kiyoomi asks from the kitchen, looking over the selection of drinks laid out on the counter. Next to them sits a pack of Kiyoomi's preferred brand of wet wipes, which he uses to wipe the surface of the coffee can he chooses from the array. He's sure Akaashi is responsible for this, too, and although he's not sure how Akaashi knew what brand to get, Kiyoomi resolves to thank him for the consideration later.

"Akaashi is helping Tsumu make an online dating profile!" Hinata says, making Inunaki bounce on their shared couch cushion when he leans up on the back of the couch to look at Kiyoomi. "Like a real, grown up one. Atsumu even deleted Grindr and Tinder from his phone!"

"Made us watch him do it, for some reason," Inunaki adds, but Kiyoomi is too busy flicking his eyes in Atsumu's direction.

"I was trying to show ya I was serious about this," Atsumu mumbles, his cheeks tinting a light pink. "And I'm not wasting Akaashi's time."

Kiyoomi frowns. "Why would you need help making a dating profile?"

"It's surprisingly hard to make Atsumu sound appealing," Inunaki deadpans, and Atsumu shoots him a look that says he'd reach over to smack him if Akaashi and Hinata were not between them.

"It's just a bit different when you're looking for a serious relationship rather than a casual one," Akaashi says after a moment, still typing. 

Kiyoomi nods. "But why ask for Akaashi's help?"

"He's better with words," Bokuto chimes in. 

Atsumu shrugs. "It was either that or ask someone on the team," he says, and Kiyoomi tilts his head, considering. That's actually fair—Akaashi is dependable, from what Kiyoomi can gather from their few meetings. Kiyoomi considers Atsumu's request for Akaashi to set him up with someone, and he supposes that makes sense as well, since Akaashi seems the type to actually put some thought into any matches he might make. 

The logic behind the request makes sense, but—

_ Why the sudden push for a serious relationship?  _ Kiyoomi doesn't ask. He settles into an armchair and pops open his coffee can.

"Okay, now that we've filled in your interests and what you're looking for, we should circle back to your introduction," Akaashi continues, looking to Atsumu. "Have you decided whether you want to disclose that you're a professional athlete?"

Atsumu shakes his head. "I dunno, should I?"

Akaashi hums in thought. "It may be a good idea. You can set realistic expectations about how much time you'll have for a potential partner, and how much you'll be traveling for work." A round of nods from everyone on and around the couch, including Bokuto, whose chin ruffles Akaashi's hair. "Plus, I think it would be good for you to have at least one photo in your uniform."

"Why's that?" Hinata asks.

Kiyoomi watches Akaashi's eyes dart between Atsumu and Bokuto. "Frankly, it will highlight your best assets," Akaashi says after a moment. Bokuto gasps while Hinata and Inunaki break out into laughter, and from this angle, Kiyoomi can see the way the tips of Atsumu's ears go pink.

Kiyoomi's eyes flick to Atsumu's tapered waist and the thick set of his thighs where they fill out the jeans he's wearing. He's familiar with Atsumu's assets, and he begrudgingly admits to himself that Akaashi has a point.

"Keiji!" Bokuto cries out, scandalized and leaning back. 

Akaashi turns to him and shrugs. "It works for you, after all," he says, and any offense seems to flee from Bokuto's mind as he preens under Akaashi's praise.

"Of course our goal is still to help you find someone who wants a serious, long-lasting relationship with you," Akaashi says after a moment. "But it's a bit naïve to discount how physical attraction plays into that."

Atsumu nods, cheeks still pink. "That makes sense. Okay, we can start there." 

Akaashi nods and continues typing. "How else would you describe yourself, Atsumu?"

"He's annoying," Inunaki cuts in with a smirk.

Atsumu gapes, apparently affronted. "Shion!"

Akaashi hums. "We'll say he's energetic," he says, typing.

"He's a clown," Bokuto adds, grinning.

Another gasp from Atsumu. "I thought we were friends, Bokkun!"

"Great sense of humor," Akaashi translates, still typing.

"He's a stubborn asshole," Kiyoomi throws in, finishing off his coffee and setting the can on a nearby table. 

Atsumu squints at him. "Like you're any better, Omi," he hisses, and Kiyoomi shrugs. It's fair.

"Hm. Passionate?" Akaashi muses, then nods and types.

"His only brain cell is a single volleyball bouncing around his skull," Inunaki interjects, unable to hold back his laughter.

Atsumu slumps down in his seat, crossing his arms. "You guys are the worst."

"Talented and driven," is what Akaashi settles on. "Anything else?"

Hinata taps his chin in thought. "Should we mention that Atsumu-san is a bottom?"

The silence that follows is deafening as even Akaashi's fingers pause on the keyboard and Atsumu hides his face in his hands. Inunaki does the same in a clear attempt to stifle his laughter. "I don't think that will be necessary, Shoyo-kun," Akaashi says after a moment. "Not for this kind of profile."

Hinata nods, reaching for his drink at the coffee table. 

"Besides," Atsumu says, red face emerging from behind his hands. "I'm vers."

Inunaki snorts, breaking out into cackling laughter, and Bokuto joins in. Kiyoomi pulls his mask up over his face to hide his smirk.

"Yer all assholes," Atsumu grumbles, lunging for the TV remote on the coffee table and pressing the power button. "Shut the hell up, the game is starting." Akaashi sets the laptop aside and spreads his knees to make room for Bokuto to sit on the floor between them, hands on his shoulders all the while. 

Between the third and fourth set, Kiyoomi finds himself in the kitchen washing his hands before digging into the takeout the group had ordered. Kiyoomi's technique is second nature at this point, but some part of him recalls a [video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elDX8ztV8w4&ab_channel=SmallButera) Atsumu had sent him just a few weeks into their arrangement—two muscular animated friends rapping about adequate hand washing. The beat echoes in the back of his mind as he scrubs between his fingers.

Right when Kiyoomi remembers the line about giving your thumbs the chokes, Atsumu trails into the kitchen, leaning half out of the doorway and laughing at something Inunaki says on his way in. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms, quietly watching Kiyoomi finish up at the sink. Turning off the faucet, Kiyoomi eyes the towel hanging on the hook by the sink and frowns, turning his head to look for—

"Here," Atsumu says, already holding out a paper towel for him. Kiyoomi nods and takes it, thoroughly drying his hands.

Things are...not as weird between them as Kiyoomi had been expecting, after Atsumu called off their arrangement two weeks ago. He assumed at least some awkwardness on Atsumu's end; contrary to his cocky attitude, Kiyoomi found over the last six months that Atsumu was sometimes more socially anxious than he was, always hyper-aware of social cues and missteps, observant almost to a fault and falling back on what Kiyoomi thought of as clownery to compensate for it all. 

So to see Atsumu acting...well,  _ normal _ (for him, anyway), for the last two weeks, almost feels weird. Atsumu doesn’t waver in the face of any potential awkwardness that  _ should _ be there between two people who used to be inside each other on a regular basis and still have to work together. Kiyoomi isn't quite sure what to make of it. 

He steps aside to allow Atsumu access to the sink, tossing his used paper towel into the trash can and making his way back to the living room.

"Hey Omi," Atsumu says, just before Kiyoomi crosses the threshold. Kiyoomi steps back into the kitchen and hums for Atsumu to continue. 

"Just so y'know," Atsumu says after a moment, scratching absently at the back of his head as he leans against the sink. "I didn't actually meet up with anyone. From the apps I mean, while we were...yeah. Mostly I just traded pics for the ego boost. Just...wanted you to know."

Kiyoomi shrugs despite the inexplicable feeling of tension draining from his shoulders as Atsumu's admission. "As long as you're safe, Miya, it's really none of my business." He pauses, tilts his head. "Well. Either way it's not my business anymore. But thank you for telling me, I suppose."

If he wasn't so familiar with Atsumu's facial expressions by now, he'd have missed the quick wince that he manages to turn into a smile. "Guess yer right," he says, giving Kiyoomi his back as he turns to the sink to wash his own hands. As Kiyoomi steps back to the living room, he thinks he hears Atsumu singing the hand washing song to himself under his breath.

-

The rest of the weekend is...odd. For the first time in six months, he finds himself with two days off and no plans of any kind. He spends Friday morning deep cleaning his apartment, gloved and masked with his phone playing music in his pocket. He makes lunch and takes a trip to his local plant nursery for soil, coming home with a new echeveria bought on impulse. It's only mid-afternoon by the time his new plant is situated on his balcony with the others and Kiyoomi finds himself on his couch with nothing else to do.

He's not complaining, he reminds himself as he glances at his phone. Nothing there.

Seven months ago he would've reveled in an afternoon to himself like this. But by now Atsumu usually would have texted him about dinner plans and started needling Kiyoomi about letting him come over.

Kiyoomi wakes up his phone again, as if anything will have changed in the last thirty seconds.

Still nothing.

He shrugs, attributing the sinking feeling in his stomach to hunger, and makes his way to the kitchen to get an early start on dinner. After a few minutes, he sets his phone on the counter and hits play on a podcast, letting the chatter fill up the otherwise empty space.

-

"Tsumu!" Hinata says in lieu of a greeting the following Monday, bounding into the locker room with his typical energy. "How'd your date go?"

Kiyoomi glances up at that from where he'd been seated on the bench, changing his shoes. Atsumu smiles at Hinata as he pulls an old Inarizaki shirt over his head. Kiyoomi recognizes that smile as well—it's not far off from the one he puts on when someone from the press asks him a question that even he deems too personal, and he's clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. Kiyoomi frowns.

"It was good! She was a nice girl. We walked in a park."

Hinata nods, clearly waiting for more. "And? You gonna see her again?"

Atsumu scratches at the back of his head. "Eh, I don't know. Too soon to tell." 

Barnes hums from his own locker. "Thought the date was with a guy?" he asks, and Atsumu laughs, but it's a strained sound.

"That was yesterday. Matched with a guy while I was on my run and met up for coffee in the afternoon. He was…" Atsumu pauses from where he’s combing through his hair with his fingers, frowning at the mirror magnetized to the inside of his locker. “Something.” The locker room is uncharacteristically quiet as Atsumu’s teammates wait for him to elaborate, but after blinking a few times and shaking his head, his smile brightens again as he pushes his locket shut. “Anyway! I got an idea for a new serve, Shoyo-kun, lemme show ya,” he says, quickly turning and walking out of the locker room.

Hinata lags for a moment, turning to his teammates and shrugging before he follows Atsumu. 

It’s not Kiyoomi’s business. It’s not, and he’s not going to ask, because if Atsumu wants to talk about it, he can be an adult and start the conversation himself. Not that Kiyoomi wants Atsumu to tell him anything.

He hears it from Motoya, of all people, instead, who heard it from Suna, who was apparently with Osamu when Atsumu called him to complain after his dates went badly. 

“Both of them?” Kiyoomi finds himself asking, and it’s only because he’s an active listener and wants to ensure he heard Motoya correctly and not that he’s actually gossiping with his cousin as if that’s something grown men do.

“I only got the summaries,” Motoya says, the background of his video blurring as he migrates from his kitchen to his couch, picking up his game controller. “But I guess he overdressed for the first one and then got a little too casual on the second one? And did that thing he does when he feels awkward. You know.”

Kiyoomi nods, his gloved hands digging into the soil holding his pothos, fingers wiggling into the dirt to cup the root system. He’s got a pretty good idea of how Atsumu gets when he’s nervous or embarrassed—talking about himself entirely too much without actually saying anything of substance. He’d done it the first few times he and Kiyoomi had hooked up, trying to fill the quiet moments and the space between them with noise as he adjusted to their new dynamic. He frowns as he thinks of Atsumu feeling out those kinds of boundaries with strangers who don’t understand how he operates.

“I think something weird happened with the guy but Suna wouldn’t say.” Motoya hums, and the sounds from his TV fade as he pauses. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. If Atsumu-kun didn’t want to tell you about it then I shouldn’t either.” 

Kiyoomi nods, his hands lifting the pothos, roots and all, and transferring it to a new pot. “That’s fair. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” When he doesn’t hear the sounds from Motoya’s game resuming, he glances at the phone and finds Motoya still looking at him. “What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you and Atsumu-kun broke up?”

Kiyoomi clicks his tongue. “We weren’t dating so we didn’t break up. Atsumu ended our arrangement.” His hands may be a bit too aggressive as he shovels dirt into the new pot to cover up the roots, and he runs his fingers over the leaves as if in apology. 

Motoya hums. “That’s interesting. Did he say why?”

_ It’s not enough for me anymore, Omi. _

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “No. It’s not my business anyway.” He claps his hands together lightly, allowing the dirt dusting his gloves to drift down onto the towel he has laid out, but he can just make out the sound of Motoya sighing.

“Of course it’s not,” he grumbles, resuming his game. Kiyoomi doesn’t bother asking what that’s supposed to mean.

-

The number of dates he sees Atsumu go on over the next few weeks makes Kiyoomi’s head spin.

Well.  _ Sees  _ is the wrong word. But everyone else on the team seems to know about it, with Hinata and Bokuto especially invested and prodding for details. Kiyoomi really isn’t listening, but it’s hard not to pick up on it when it seems to be all they talk about anymore.

For the most part, Atsumu doesn’t say much; he’ll say, “It was nice!” or “Oh, it went fine,” even though his pinched smile says otherwise, but won’t offer any more details beyond that no matter how his teammates probe. Kiyoomi brushes it off; despite what seems to be a series of bad dates, Atsumu hasn’t let it affect his performance on the court, and that’s all that matters to Kiyoomi. 

Sure, Atsumu seems less enthusiastic about greeting fans after their few games, and for the first time he sits by himself on the team bus on their way to the Hornets game, choosing instead to stare dejectedly out the window with his earbuds in like a moody high schooler in a drama. Kiyoomi tries not to roll his eyes at the sight.

Things don’t seem to improve until a few weeks in, when Atsumu finally enters the locker room whistling to himself and greeting his teammates with his usual energy again.

“You look happy,” Meian comments, smiling, and Atsumu laughs. 

“Guess I am,” Atsumu says, settling onto a bench to take off his shoes and slip his track pants off. 

“Ooh, did your date go well, Tsumu? Were they nice?” Bokuto asks, and Atsumu glances up.

Atsumu doesn’t answer right away, and Kiyoomi cuts his eyes in Atsumu’s direction from underneath the towel drying his hair. On anyone else, Kiyoomi would describe the way Atsumu smiles as he looks down at his sneakers as soft, but that...can’t be right. 

“Yeah,” Atsumu finally says, quiet, folding his track pants and setting them on the bench beside him. “Rei-kun is really nice.” 

Kiyoomi swallows around a lump in his throat, and immediately presses two fingers to his lymph nodes to check for swelling, but there’s none. He frowns, laying the back of his hand against his own forehead to feel for a fever, but that’s also normal. Weird.

“Oooh, that’s great!” Hinata says, laying his hands on Atsumu’s shoulders and bouncing in place. “Are you gonna see them again?”

The way Atsumu’s mouth cuts into a wide grin answers for him, and the rest of the team wastes no time teasing him mercilessly, pressing for more details.

Kiyoomi doesn’t stick around, and leaves them behind to head to the court and begin his stretches.

Atsumu doesn’t shut up about Rei-kun for another two weeks. “ _ Rei-kun and me did this,”  _ and  _ “Rei-kun told me that,”  _ and _ “Rei-kun is a physical therapist and they suggested—” _

Rei is a stupid fucking name, Kiyoomi thinks to himself just three days in.

“You should bring Rei-kun to a game,” is what Barnes suggests during a water break, and Kiyoomi is already dreading the way Atsumu’s eyes light up at that. 

“Would you guys mind? If they’re free I could bring them to the Rockets game on Friday.” 

There’s a round of enthusiastic agreement from everyone except Kiyoomi, and Atsumu smiles wide, jogging over to grab his phone from the seat on the sidelines where he’d left it.

“Ya never answered earlier, Omi-kun,” Atsumu says to him later, as the two of them prepare for a few extra drills after the rest of the team has begun to filter back into the locker room. “Do you mind if I invite Rei-kun to the game?”

Kiyoomi huffs under his breath, rotating his wrists. “Why would I mind, Miya?”

Atsumu chuckles at that, rotating the ball in his hands. “I just wouldn’t want it to be weird.” 

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says after a moment. “I already told you, whoever you’re seeing is none of my business. Do what you want.” Kiyoomi doesn’t quite mean to bite the words out the way he does, although some part of him that he doesn’t want to acknowledge feels a curl of satisfaction at the way Atsumu flinches at his tone. “Can we get through these drills so I can go home, Miya?”

Atsumu nods, stepping back a few feet. “Sure, Omi-kun. Ready when you are,” he says, and tosses the ball.

When the starting whistle blows at their game on Friday, the seat reserved for Rei is empty. Despite how tired he was of hearing their name, Kiyoomi’s gut sinks at the way Atsumu’s face falls every time he flicks his eyes to their seat only to find it still unoccupied. 

After the Rockets beat them, Kiyoomi catches Atsumu pacing the hallway between the gym and the locker room, phone pressed to his ear. He pouts and looks down at the screen, then seems to shoot off a text before pocketing his phone and heading inside to change. 

Atsumu doesn’t talk about Rei again.

-

“Omi-san,” Hinata whispers from the doorway leading into the gym. When Kiyoomi glances at him, his head is peaking out from behind the frame. Bokuto pokes his head out not long after. “Come with us, we’re on a mission.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I’m not interested in getting arrested,” he says, about to turn away, but the two call him back with the loudest attempts at whispering he’s ever heard.

“You won’t!” Bokuto says, and Hinata nods. “We’re gonna go spy on Tsumu’s date.”

Kiyoomi exhales, letting his eyes slide shut for a moment. “Why would I ever want to do that.” 

“We’re trying to help him!” Hinata says, his volume rising, and Bokuto pokes his cheek and shushes him. “Sorry. We’re just gonna watch how the date goes and make sure nothing goes wrong!”

“And what if it does?” Kiyoomi asks, raising his brows. “What are you planning to do about it?”

Bokuto and Hinata glance at each other, seemingly communicating without words, then both shrug. “We’ll figure that out when it happens,” Bokuto finally answers.

“I can’t think of anything I’d want to do less with my evening,” Kiyoomi answers. “And anyway, isn’t it a bit soon after the whole…” He never finishes his sentence, frowning as he presses the ball tighter between his palms.

Bokuto seems to deflate at that. “Probably? But that’s why we wanna make sure this one goes well!”

Hinata nods. “Please, Omi-san? Atsumu’s our friend, we just wanna make sure he’s happy!”

_ Just beneficiaries, then?  _ Atsumu says in the back of Kiyoomi’s mind, smirking over his shoulder as he sits on the edge of Kiyoomi’s bed. Kiyoomi’s not sure what dregs that memory up, but he pushes it down as soon as it surfaces. Miya Atsumu’s happiness is none of Kiyoomi’s business.

And yet—

“Fine,” he says. “But you two are buying me dinner.”

-

The restaurant they’re staking out is nicer than what Kiyoomi was expecting—elegant but cozy, warm, and inviting. A string of fairy lights hangs along the top border of the front window. Kiyoomi raises a brow and glances at Bokuto.

“How did you even know where he was going?” he asks, adjusting in his seat. They’re settled in at an even smaller restaurant across the street, and the table they chose is too small for three athletes, but Hinata insisted that they needed to be close to the window so they could keep Atsumu and his date within their sights. 

Bokuto glances at him from under his hood. It’s supposed to make him look less conspicuous. It’s not working. “Keiji set this up!” he says, cheerfully, looking over the menu card in his hands. “She’s an editor with their sister publisher. Keiji said she edits cookbooks but she used to be a sports journalist and she’s kind of intense but Keiji thinks they’ll get along!”

Kiyoomi swallows around the lump in his throat again. He should order some tea and see if that helps. “She sounds interesting,” he mutters, just as a server comes over to take their orders.

They’ve just placed their orders when they see Atsumu arrive, standing near the restaurant doors and rubbing his hands together. He looks good, Kiyoomi admits, with his dark fitted jeans and soft-looking sweater and light jacket, his hair artfully tousled . It is warm, for early March, but the sun has just set and the air has gone brisk. Still, the fairy lights above him give him a warm glow as he glances up and down the street.

The woman who approaches him is beautiful. Soft auburn hair hanging in loose ringlets around her shoulders, cropped leather jacket over a floral dress that flutters around stocking-clad legs as she approaches, heeled leather boots and a walk that commands attention. She shows no hesitation as she approaches Atsumu, whose eyes widen as he takes her in and reaches out to shake her hand. She’s smooth, too, because when she takes his hand, she pulls him in with a laugh and balances with one hand on his shoulder to lean in and kiss his cheek. Akaashi clearly put some thought into the match, because even just with their short introduction, even from this distance, Kiyoomi can tell that she’s  _ exactly  _ Atsumu’s type, confident but soft in a way Kiyoomi knows he’ll never be.

Kiyoomi burns for reasons he can’t explain.

Atsumu places one broad hand on the small of her back and leads her into the restaurant and Hinata coos as he watches them. “Smooth, Tsumu!” he says, tapping his hand excitedly on the table. 

Atsumu and his date disappear briefly into the restaurant and for a moment Kiyoomi thinks this whole mission was for nothing. Luckily, though, they end up seated at a small corner table by the window, and Kiyoomi, Bokuto, and Hinata have a front row seat to their entire date.

The three of them barely look away from the window, even when their three bowls of ramen are set on the table in front of them, only looking down long enough to grab their noodles between their hashi and slurp them into their mouths.

It’s not long before Kiyoomi starts to wonder what Bokuto and Hinata were so worried about. He’d heard about Atsumu’s first few dates all those weeks ago and how awkward he got, but right now he seems...charming. Not subdued by any measure because that’s never been Atsumu’s style. But if he’s nervous at all he seems to redirect that energy into enthusiasm and they both seem to be having a good conversation and a nice time, both leaning forward in their seats and keeping their eyes on each other as they talk. From here Kiyoomi can almost make out Atsumu’s alluring smirk, the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the way he leans in with wide eyes and seems to listen attentively to what his date says.

At one point, she laughs at something he’s said and reaches out one manicured hand to rest on his bicep for a moment too long, and the white noise echoing in the back of Kiyoomi’s mind almost drowns out the way both Bokuto and Hinata say, “Ooooh!” and bump their firsts together. 

As the dinner goes on, Kiyoomi can almost track the journey from Miya Atsumu, Anxiety-Ridden Freewheeling Disaster Bisexual to just...Atsumu. A cocky, but ultimately genuine and secretly incredibly vulnerable man.

A man whose attention Kiyoomi has to finally admit that he misses. 

Before he can stop himself, Kiyoomi briefly imagines himself sitting across the table from Atsumu, having all that attention and brightness aimed at him instead of this gorgeous sports-journalist-turned-cookbook-editor and—no. Kiyoomi kills the thought before it can go any further. He and Atsumu were friends with—no,  _ beneficiaries  _ only, one of Kiyoomi’s main conditions when they started this whole thing. Those boundaries were established before they ever even began and so there’s nothing to...to miss, or to mourn the way Kiyoomi almost catches himself doing. The fact that Kiyoomi even let himself get this invested in Atsumu’s attempts to find his soulmate, let himself be dragged along on this “mission” is alarming in itself.

But Kiyoomi would be lying if he said some part of him didn’t feel almost sick to his stomach now that he’s watching with his own eyes as Atsumu tries so hard to find “the one” in someone else. 

The minutes blur together after that, and the next thing he knows Atsumu and his date are standing and leaving the restaurant. She’s not subtle about the way she clings to his arm as they step out onto the sidewalk, crowding against his side. They step aside once they’re out the door, talking for a few moments before she slides her hand up Atsumu’s shoulder to his neck to turn his head, then leans up on her toes to kiss him softly until Atsumu puts his arms around her waist and pulls her even closer. 

Across the table, Bokuto and Hinata begin cheering, slapping their hands on the table until their bowls shake and broth spills onto the table. Their mouths are full as they laugh and they draw the attention of the other patrons, but Kiyoomi can’t pay attention to any of it as his vision tunnels onto the way she tangles her fingers between the soft strands of Atsumu’s hair and almost seems to guide his head as his fingers tighten on her waist.

Kiyoomi’s teeth grind together. He knows better than anyone how much Atsumu likes having his hair pulled, how it makes him tense up for a moment before he goes all loose-limbed and pliant, how his eyes fall half-lidded, how it’s the easiest way to pull the sweetest sounds from his throat and have him clinging to Kiyoomi like he’s the last breath of air on earth. 

Kiyoomi can feel bile rising in his throat as he abruptly stands, his chair screeching back across the floor and drawing even more attention to his table, Bokuto and Hinata going quiet as they look at him with wide eyes. 

“You okay, Omi-san?” Hinata says, but Kiyoomi can only shake his head and dig into his pocket for his wallet, dropping a few notes onto the table (forgetting entirely how Bokuto and Hinata had agreed to buy him dinner) before he storms out of the restaurant without a word, shoulders tensed high near his ears as he walks in the opposite direction of Atsumu. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For eight months he’s told himself that Atsumu’s love life is none of his business, but maybe—finally—he has a chance to _make it_ his business.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for all the support and feedback on the first chapter! This one was a little harder to get out so thanks for your patience. As always, thanks to [Dindi](https://twitter.com/dindie__) for the honestly incredible beta work and for whipping this thing into shape and polishing it into what it is.

Here’s the thing, the thing Kiyoomi can only admit to himself now, as he bursts through his apartment door, not caring about the noise as he lets it slam shut behind him. He strips out of his clothes as he makes his way to his bathroom, turns on his shower hotter than he can stand and scrubs his skin until it’s pink and raw.

The thing is, Kiyoomi knew. 

He knew the moment Atsumu’s feelings began to morph into something...else. Something other than the kind of feelings that should happen between teammates, between friends, between beneficiaries. Something other than what two people feel when they resolve to keep their lives disentangled except for brief moments in the privacy of each other’s bedrooms. 

Kiyoomi knew and he watched as the way Atsumu looked at him began to change, as the intent behind his touches became heavier and more laden with meaning, as it became clear that they wanted two different things. 

Kiyoomi knew, he knew for months and he let it happen and he said nothing.

Maybe some part of him liked the attention. Liked having something that bright directed at him and him only, liked having something that  _ belonged  _ to him only, liked knowing that of everyone else on the planet, of all the people who Miya Atsumu could have had,  _ Kiyoomi  _ was the one who made him fall in love, even if he never planned on returning the feeling.

Maybe there was some power in it, some validation Kiyoomi didn’t know he wanted but found himself addicted to. 

But.

As Kiyoomi crawls into bed and stares at the lights from passing cars drifting over his ceiling, he doesn’t feel powerful, doesn’t feel validated, doesn’t feel anything but deserving of the way he aches and burns. 

-

Here's the other thing: feelings are ammunition. 

Kiyoomi keeps repeating the thought to himself as he runs the next morning, feet pounding the pavement and echoing the way his heart pounds as he pushes himself past the point of exhaustion. It was still dark out when he left his apartment, his limbs itching with the need to move despite not feeling rested at all. He’s lost track of how long he’s been at it, how far he’s run. The sun is well on its way to rising when he finally stops near a park bench, bent over with his hands on his knees and chest heaving. 

Kiyoomi has been accused of not having feelings before—by friends and teammates and lovers alike. He has no tragic backstory to unlock, really, but he knows by now that it's easier to acquiesce to expectations than it is to explain why there are just certain things he can't give.

Sweat makes Kiyoomi’s shirt cling to his skin, and he stares as a drop dripping off his chin and onto the pavement as it occurs to him...maybe he liked knowing that, despite all his romantic shortcomings, Miya Atsumu loved him. Maybe Kiyoomi liked the validation of knowing that what little he gave was enough for one of the brightest people he knew. Maybe he thought things could stay the same if no one acknowledged the way they were changing. 

Maybe that was his first mistake.

Kiyoomi heaves in one more deep breath as he ignores the burning in his legs and sets off running again.

-

Two days later, Atsumu is whistling again as he enters the gym just before the start of practice, tapping on his phone as he walks. No one asks but everyone knows, especially once practice gets started in earnest and Atsumu’s shorts ride up when he lunges for the ball, revealing a series of scratches along his upper thighs and a purple mark just below the collar of his shirt. Bokuto and Hinata snicker and bump their fists together. Kiyoomi shouldn’t stare but he also can’t look away. 

-

Kiyoomi might not have even noticed she was there if she wasn’t so  _ loud. _

Atsumu doesn’t talk about her the same way he did with Rei, but he says enough for Kiyoomi to learn that her name is Aiko and that she and Atsumu get on like a wildfire. Kiyoomi almost gleans more from what Atsumu  _ doesn’t  _ say, the way he shows up to practice still smelling distinctly of a woman’s perfume or the way he rushes out and doesn’t stay for extra drills at the end of the day like he usually does.

It’s not until Kiyoomi hears a pronounced, “Nice serve, Atsumu!” as Atsumu begins his serve ritual that Kiyoomi bothers to look over. Sure enough, there’s Aiko, courtside as they play VC Kanagawa, bright and smiling as she cups her hands around her mouth and cheers for Atsumu. 

Atsumu scores an ace, and when Kiyoomi turns to offer his usual, “Nice serve,” Atsumu isn’t looking at him. Instead he’s smiling and winking at Aiko before resetting, waiting for a ball to return to him for another serve. Kiyoomi swallows down his compliment and returns his eyes to the net, hands braced on the back of his head.

“Is that her?” Inunaki asks as he wipes sweat from his brow when VC Kanagawa calls a timeout. Atsumu glances across the court, laughing when Aiko waves at him with a wide smile. He waves back.

“Yeah, that’s Aiko,” he says simply. Barnes whistles and claps Atsumu on the back.

Kiyoomi’s teeth dig into the spigot of his water bottle until he nearly bites it clean off.

They manage a win in four sets, which is for the best because Kiyoomi is just a bit distracted. Even as he answers questions from reporters at the end of the game, his eyes glance over to where Aiko is talking to other members of the press, jovial and familiar. Occasionally she’ll look back at him and smile, making Kiyoomi quickly avert his eyes and give a half-assed response that he hopes answers the question he wasn’t listening to. He heads back to the locker room the first chance he gets.

Kiyoomi is just zipping up his jacket and adjusting his mask on his face when Atsumu rushes out of the showers and towards his locker, bumping into Meian on the way. 

“Sorry!” he calls out, hurriedly opening his locker and pulling his clothes out of his bag. “Aiko is waiting for me, I lost track of time.”

“You guys are going out?” Hinata asks, pulling his shirt over his head. Kiyoomi hears Atsumu mention Kuromon Ichiba as he leaves the locker room, not eager to hear another word about Aiko.

So,  _ of course, _ she’s waiting just outside of the locker room once he makes his way through the doors.

He’s not sure why he even stops, but they’re the only two in the hallway and leaving without saying a word to her somehow feels like admitting defeat. She doesn’t even look at him at first, leaning back against the wall and staring down at her phone. 

Kiyoomi should say something, but...what, exactly? _ Hey, we just met but I used to have sex with your boyfriend and I also spied on your first date with him. But it’s okay, I wasn’t alone and I didn’t do it because I was jealous. Is he your boyfriend, by the way? Is it serious? Have I lost my chance? Because I’m pretty sure I might be in love with him. _

“Oh, hello Sakusa-senshuu,” she says when she finally glances up at him. “I didn’t see you there.” 

That’s probably not true. Kiyoomi is 192 centimeters tall and the only other person in this hallway. Kiyoomi appreciates the lie anyway.

He also appreciates the way she doesn’t move to close the space between them, despite how friendly and tactile she seemed to be with everyone else she spoke to earlier. Instead she bows her head briefly at him.

“I’m Katagiri Aiko,” she says. “Please don’t mind me, I’m just waiting for—”

“You’re Miya’s girlfriend,” is the first thing Kiyoomi can think to say, and he hopes she can’t make out the way he winces behind his mask.

She stops mid-sentence, raising her brows as she tilts her head. “Is that what he said?”

Kiyoomi shrugs instead of answering directly, mind racing as he clings to the fact that  _ she didn’t agree _ . “Things seem to be going well. With you and Miya,” he says after a moment, stilted and—he hopes—not as painfully obvious as he feels.

The way she smiles at him reminds him of a shark. “Well I’m here, aren’t I?” Her laugh is lilting and musical and controlled. Kiyoomi thinks for a moment that he prefers Atsumu’s uninhibited hyena cackles. 

“Atsumu is a good boy,” Aiko says after a moment. Kiyoomi pushes down the flood of memories her statement brings to mind. She tilts her head again, eyes inscrutable as she takes him in. Kiyoomi shudders to think about what she was like as a sports journalist. “But you already know that, don’t you Sakusa-senshuu?”

Kiyoomi opens his mouth to reply—although with  _ what, _ he can’t imagine—when Atsumu barrels out of the locker room, out of breath and nearly side-swiping Kiyoomi.

“Sorry, Omi-kun!” Atsumu says with a laugh, but he barely looks at Kiyoomi as he immediately heads for Aiko, reaching a hand out to her.

Kiyoomi’s eyes seem to zoom in on the way she takes his hand in hers. “You didn’t need to rush, Atsu,” she says, brushing back his still-wet hair. “I was just having a nice chat with Sakusa.”

Atsumu goes visibly stiff at that, eyes darting back and forth between Aiko and Kiyoomi. “Oh. What about?”

“Just the game.” The lie is smooth and easy on her tongue. “You did wonderfully, by the way.” Her hand lingers in his hair, and she takes hold of it to turn his head so she can kiss his cheek.

Kiyoomi should leave. He should. There’s no reason for him to stay here, but his feet feel rooted to the spot and some part of him needs to know for sure—

Her lipstick leaves a smudge on Atsumu’s cheek when she pulls away. “Oh, sorry Atsu,” she says. Kiyoomi can’t help but think she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Looks like I left a mark.” She smiles and locks eyes with Kiyoomi as her thumb wipes away the lipstick from Atsumu’s cheek.

Atsumu, for the most part, has the decency to look embarrassed, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he glances at Kiyoomi out of the corner of his eye. “Can we go?” he says, nudging Aiko’s elbow with his own.

She nods. “Sure,” she says, linking her arm with Atsumu’s. “It was nice to meet you, Sakusa-senshuu.” She smiles again, like she knows something Kiyoomi doesn’t. Kiyoomi thinks she probably does.

“G’night, Omi,” Atsumu says as they begin to head down the hallway towards the back entrance of the gym. Kiyoomi doesn’t answer as he watches them go.

As they walk, Aiko’s hand trails down Atsumu’s back until she slips it into the back pocket of his jeans. From this distance, Kiyoomi can just make out the way the denim shifts as she cups Atsumu’s ass in her palm. She looks back, just for a moment, and grins as she waves at Kiyoomi.

“Jeez, Aiko, could ya not?” Atsumu says just before they slip out the door.

Kiyoomi takes a deep, shaky breath, and walks home.

-

It’s...it’s fine. Right? So Atsumu and Aiko are still seeing each other. So they’ve had sex—a lot, by the looks of it. So they’re still seeing each other. So Atsumu is reserving seats for her at games. So she gets to hold his hand and touch his hair and so she looks at Kiyoomi like she knows exactly how much he wants to take her place. It’s fine. That doesn’t need to mean anything. It doesn’t mean all hope is lost for Kiyoomi. Which is not to say that Kiyoomi  _ is  _ holding out hope, it’s not like he wants—

Then again, that kind of denial is what got him here in the first place.

Kiyoomi sighs, rolling onto his side in bed and staring at the time on the alarm clock glaring back at him. He’s lost count of how many nights in a row he’s stared down the 2:30 and unsuccessfully willed himself to just fall asleep already. 

He’s not quite sure how he managed to fool himself for this long, how he managed to convince himself he doesn’t care what Atsumu does or with whom. Now, without any distraction and yet another restless night ahead of him, Kiyoomi lets himself admit that maybe he cares very much. And maybe he can allow himself, just this once, to chase this feeling. Maybe it’s not like his exes have all said, and—

And just  _ maybe  _ it took seeing Atsumu with someone else for Kiyoomi to realize that he did have more to give, if Atsumu would still have him.

Now he just...needs to figure out how to do that.

The thought presents a new set of anxieties. Kiyoomi has always known what his next steps were before he made them. He could always see the path before him, always knew where he wanted to be and knew what he’d need to do to get there.

Kiyoomi has  _ no idea _ how to fix this. 

Despite the late hour and despite  _ knowing  _ how the blue light will make it that much harder to fall asleep, Kiyoomi grabs his phone off the bedside table and powers it on. 

He’s not sure why he calls Motoya. He’s not sure what he expects Motoya will say or if he’ll even pick up, but. For the first time in his life Kiyoomi feels genuinely lost and, well. Who else is he going to call?

Motoya answers on the fourth ring, his voice thick with sleep. “Kiyoomi? Are you okay?” Kiyoomi almost smiles at the concern in Motoya’s voice, but quickly realizes he’s not even sure what to say. The problem feels so immense he doesn’t even know where to begin, so he just...doesn’t.

“Kiyoomi...? You there? Are you safe?” Motoya asks after a long moment. Kiyoomi can hear Motoya’s bedding rustling as he moves. “Is someone there? Bark twice if you need me to come to Osaka.”

Kiyoomi frowns. “Why would I bark?” he finally asks. 

“There you are!” Motoya says, seemingly beginning to wake up. “I don’t know, maybe there was an intruder and you couldn’t talk? Who knows, thinking there was a guard dog could be enough to scare him off.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes. “I can assure you, if there was an intruder in my home, you wouldn’t be the first person I call.”

Motoya sighs. “That’s good. I don’t know if I could handle that kind of pressure.”

Kiyoomi actually laughs at that, tension unfurling in his chest. “Good to know.”

“So if there’s no home intruder, why are you calling me at…” A pause as Motoya seems to pull his phone away from his ear. “Damn. 2:30 in the morning?”

Kiyoomi hums, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut. “I think...I may have made a mistake.” He waits for Motoya to laugh or make some joke about how hell must be freezing over if Sakusa Kiyoomi is admitting out loud that he messed up.

The jokes don’t come. “Oh?” Motoya says instead. “This wouldn’t happen to be about Atsumu-kun?”

Kiyoomi almost groans at the pinpoint accuracy with which Motoya reads him. “I think I have feelings for him,” he says, then pauses. Some part of him thought some fundamental part of him would change if he said it out loud. But the room is quiet and he feels the same, if a bit relieved. 

He can almost hear Motoya’s hair rustling against his pillow as he seems to nod. “Yes.” Kiyoomi isn’t sure if he’s relieved or insulted by Motoya’s complete lack of surprise.

“And I’m not sure what to do.”

Motoya hums. “This is going to sound crazy, but...you could tell him that.”

“I don’t think it’s that simple.”

“It might be. Have you tried?”

Kiyoomi does groan this time, dragging a hand down his face. “But he’s seeing someone. They…” He thinks about that first kiss in front of the restaurant, the marks on Atsumu’s body, the way Atsumu reached for her as soon as he saw her. His gut sinks deeper at the thought that Atsumu could really fall in love with Aiko.

If he hasn’t already.

Kiyoomi’s eyes burn. He clears his throat and grinds his teeth to stop the wobble in his jaw. “They seem to work well together.”

“I mean,” Motoya begins, his voice soft as if explaining something difficult to a child. “So did you guys.”

Fuck.

If Motoya actually makes him cry, Kiyoomi will never forgive him.

“I’m just saying,” Motoya continues when Kiyoomi doesn’t answer him. “Atsumu clearly felt something too. I’m sure that didn’t just go away overnight.”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen. “How did you know?”

Motoya pauses, and when he speaks again, there’s not a trace of softness left in his voice. “Seriously? Do the two of you just assume everyone around you is as stupid as you are? Fucking hell, Kiyoomi,” he says, letting out a dry laugh. “Just talk to the guy. Be gay, do crimes, adopt a dog or something. And let me  _ sleep. _ ”

Kiyoomi rubs at his eyes as he quietly laughs, settling back into his pillows. “Good night, Motoya.”

-

Motoya, of all people, should know that just talking about his feelings is easier said than done, for Kiyoomi. 

He spends the next few sleepless nights trying to put it all into words, to lay out the path so he knows exactly what to say, the exact phrases so Atsumu will know he’s serious and he  _ wants  _ this and he wants to do it right.

Also easier said than done, he finds.

How do people do this in movies? They always make it seem so easy, as if it’s not the most terrifying thing Kiyoomi has ever done. He loses count of the number of times he has to push down the itch to just send a text, quick and painfully efficient. 

Judging by Motoya’s long, tired sigh when he brings it up during their next phone call, that’s not the way to go.

-

“Speed dating?” Adriah asks after their next practice, while they all do their cooldown stretches. “I thought it was going well with the editor. You guys seemed really close at the game.”

Atsumu sighs from where he’s laid out on his mat, one knee pulled up towards his chest. “It was. Me and Aiko have a lot of, uh. Chemistry, I guess. But it was clear pretty early on that it wasn’t… y’know.” He grunts as he switches legs. “Romantic or anything that was gonna go anywhere in the long run. Just not what either of us were looking for.”

Meian hums at that. “That’s a surprisingly mature way of looking at it,” he says with a chuckle, stretching his arm behind his back.

Atsumu immediately sits up, yelping at the sudden pull of his muscles. “What’s that supposed ta mean?” he says, defensive, which Inunaki takes as an invitation to clown him mercilessly. 

Kiyoomi doesn’t join in, instead keeping his head down and breathing deeply as he creeps his hands forward along the floor in the space between where his legs are stretched. Part of him is afraid that if anyone glances over, they’ll clock the sheer  _ relief  _ on his face, rushing with his blood until his fingers and toes tingle. It’s a palpable thing, almost, filling out his chest and nearly forcing out a laugh.

There’s some...anxiety, of course. Sure, Aiko may have been his stiffest competition, but now Kiyoomi has to contend with literally every other person Atsumu could potentially meet. The feeling that Kiyoomi is running out of time to come up with the right words looms over him.

Still, the thought keeps occuring to him, blaring loud like a siren in his mind: if Atsumu is still trying to meet someone, then there’s still a chance. 

Kiyoomi is not so dense that he doesn’t see the opportunity for what it is. For eight months he’s told himself that Atsumu’s love life is none of his business, but maybe—finally—he has a chance to  _ make it  _ his business.

-

Kiyoomi knows he’s not playing fair when he shows up at Atsumu’s apartment that night, almost completely sure Atsumu is still getting ready for his speed dating...thing. He was purposeful as he got dressed, the black buttoned shirt that he remembers always caught Atsumu’s attention, rolled up to his elbow and fitted around his chest in a way that always made Atsumu want to run his hands over it before reaching for the buttons. 

He knows he’s not playing fair, but neither is Atsumu, Kiyoomi realizes as the front door opens. The deep red, almost garnet suit he’s wearing is a new one, the pants fitted and showing off the length and breadth of his legs while the jacket stretches just so around his arms. The black dress shirt underneath has two buttons undone at the top, not enough to be obnoxious but just enough to hint at showing off his collarbones that Kiyoomi has bitten time and time again. He’s still in his socks and hasn’t styled his hair yet, but it hardly matters.

“What are ya doing here, Omi?” Atsumu asks, digging his phone out of his pocket and glancing at the time. “I gotta get going soon.” 

“Who is it?” asks someone from inside before Kiyoomi can answer. From  the doorway, Kiyoomi can just see Miya Osamu and Suna Rintarou leaning over the back of Atsumu’s couch, trying to get a look into the genkan. 

“S’just Omi-kun,” Atsumu says. Kiyoomi tries not to bristle at being referred to as  _ just Omi-kun _ . Atsumu looks back at him expectantly.

Kiyoomi wasn’t expecting an audience, and all of the things he’d been planning to say fly out of his head until all he’s left with is—

“You look good, Atsumu.” Atsumu’s face flushes pink at that, and he steps back.

“Thanks. Uh, why don’t ya come in, I’ll get ya some water.” Kiyoomi nods and follows him inside, bending to take off his shoes and drop them into what used to be his usual spot. While Atsumu goes to the kitchen, Kiyoomi heads to the living room, sitting in a chair across from Osamu and Suna on the couch, and nodding at them both in greeting.

He’s not prepared for the twin stares he gets, narrowed and suspicious.

“What are you doing here?” Suna asks, far more intimidating than he should be as he leans back against the arm of the couch, his legs draped over Osamu’s lap.

Kiyoomi blinks and lowers his mask. “I need to talk to Atsumu.”

Osamu snorts at that. “Had plenty of chances ta talk to him already, didn’t ya?”

Ah. Kiyoomi isn’t sure why he thought Osamu and his partner wouldn’t know about what he and Atsumu had gotten up to before, or why he thought Atsumu wouldn’t have told them how he felt. Perhaps the hostility is warranted, Kiyoomi thinks as he shifts in his seat. He’s been on the receiving end of looks like these before—from across the net or from people who take his distance and aloofness personally. This feels entirely different, like he’s been weighed in the balance and found lacking.

Kiyoomi tries to shake off the feeling as Atsumu shuffles into the room on socked feet and sets a glass of water down in front of him. “Here ya go,” he says, then turns to Suna. “Besides the hair, how is it?” he asks, voice shaky with nerves. 

Osamu and Suna look him up and down, and Suna twirls his finger. Atsumu rolls his eyes but turns in a circle, holding his hands out expectantly when he’s facing Suna again.

Suna nods. “Butt looks good.”

Atsumu snorts at that, laughing further when he catches the way Osamu frowns. Atsumu knows his butt looks good. Kiyoomi knows his butt looks good. They  _ all _ know.

“Here,” Osamu says, turning his wrist to unfasten his watch and hold it out.

“Oh,” Atsumu says, quiet, and takes the watch. “Y’sure?”

“It’s just for tonight, dumbass.” Atsumu opens his mouth to protest, but Osamu doesn’t give him the chance. “But yeah, it’ll almost make ya look like a responsible adult.”

Atsumu grunts and stomps to his bathroom, him and Osamu bickering back and forth while he styles his hair in the mirror. Osamu smiles with each insult, though, and Kiyoomi pushes down the familiar feeling of watching them like an outsider, uninvited and unsure of his place.

When Atsumu exits the bathroom, his hair styled, he stops in front of Suna again. “Well?”

Suna’s eyes flick over his outfit again. “Try opening one more button.” Atsumu complies, but Suna frowns. “Actually, button it again.”

Atsumu rolls his eyes but does, finally turning to Kiyoomi as he closes the third button on his shirt. “What did ya need, Omi?”

Kiyoomi clears his throat. “I need to talk to you.” His eyes flick to Osamu and Suna. “Alone, if possible.”

“Oh. Uh.” Atsumu looks to Osamu, and the two appear to have a silent conversation of head tilts and raised brows until Osamu throws his hands up.

“Fine, fine. We gotta get goin’ anyway,” he says, nudging Suna’s legs off his lap and standing. As he passes Atsumu, he gives him a rough pat on the shoulder. “Let us know how it goes,” he says, following Suna back to the genkan. Behind Atsumu’s back, Osamu shoots Kiyoomi a look that feels vaguely threatening. Kiyoomi nods back.

As soon as the door shuts, Atsumu sticks his hands in his pockets, leaning back on the arm of the couch. “What’s up, Omi?”

Kiyoomi  _ did  _ have a whole speech planned, but. He can’t find it, in this moment, with Atsumu looking this good, a perfect blend of familiar and exciting that warms Kiyoomi and makes his pulse pick up all at once, and the thought that it’s all for someone else (or ten or twenty someone else’s) is just—

“Why are you doing this?” is what he says, instead, and almost winces right alongside Atsumu.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Atsumu says, crossing his arms.

Kiyoomi wants to stop himself, but his instinct has always been to push people away when he feels threatened and the words just—“Why are you trying so hard? With the way people fawn over you, there’s no shortage of people ready and willing to fuck you.”

Atsumu’s eyes go hard in a way that’s never been directed at Kiyoomi before. Kiyoomi’s hands, settled on his knees, grip hard enough to bruise. “Have ya considered that maybe I want more than just someone who’s willing ta  _ fuck  _ me, Kiyoomi?” he spits. 

Kiyoomi’s hands tighten into fists, the distance opening between them almost tangible. He’s fucked up  _ again, why does he keep—  _

“I—that’s not what I meant—”

“God, you’re so—ugh!” Atsumu groans, standing, hands reaching up to fist in his hair but pausing as he seems to remember that he just styled it. He throws his hands up instead. “Some of us want more than a fuck buddy who doesn’t even see ya as a buddy, y’know,” he says, and his shoulders sink as the fight seems to leave him. “Some of us want the whole package.”

Kiyoomi’s nails dig into his palms, but he barely notices the sting. “But I’m…” he trails off. Kiyoomi’s always been careful of his words, never saying more than he needs to, and he hates the way Atsumu makes him forget that, sometimes. It's Atsumu's fault, for putting him in situations he's not prepared for, that he doesn't have answers for. Kiyoomi doesn’t owe anyone anything, has never felt the need to defend or explain himself, but—

He thinks about all the times Atsumu has met him halfway. Wearing pajamas when he slept in Kiyoomi’s bed despite his preference to sleep nude. Saving him a window seat on the team bus because he knew Kiyoomi would get carsick and need to look outside. 

Standing in front of Kiyoomi now, trying to hear him out despite everything.

True, Kiyoomi has never felt the need to explain himself. But he wants to now. He wants to tell Atsumu everything and close the gap, but the words escape him the more he reaches for them. 

Atsumu's eyes seem to look right through him, expecting and wanting and waiting. He's always kept Atsumu waiting, hasn't he?

When it's clear that Kiyoomi is too deep in his own thoughts and the words won't come, Atsumu looks at his borrowed watch and sighs. “Look, Omi, I really gotta get going. Could ya let yourself out?” he says, stepping back into his bedroom and closing the door, the lock clicking before Kiyoomi can even collect his thoughts.

Kiyoomi considers staying and forcing Atsumu to listen, but maybe he’s done enough damage for tonight.

Maybe he had his chance already, he thinks, as he walks back to the genkan and puts his shoes back on. And maybe he should just step back and let Atsumu be happy without him.

He’s about to let himself out when he spots the speed dating flyer on the table by the door, the address and the time listed at the bottom.

It’s not until that moment that Kiyoomi remembers how much he hates leaving anything unfinished.

-

Kiyoomi nearly turns around and leaves the bar the moment he walks in. 

Atsumu made it before him, but that’s not surprising considering Kiyoomi spent the last fifteen minutes in his car, breathing through grounding exercises before he could even bring himself to go inside. The event hasn’t started, it seems, and he spots Atsumu immediately, drink in hand and chatting with someone by the bar. 

It’s clear the moment Atsumu sees him, too, the way his eyes go wide and his shoulders tense before he cuts his eyes away from Kiyoomi and resumes his conversation. Kiyoomi tries not to bristle. He probably deserves that.

Kiyoomi could just…  _ not _ do this right now. He could turn around and go home and wash his sexy shirt and save his confession for another day. But he’s feeling brave  _ now _ and he’s worried that if he turns around, he’ll lose his nerve. He takes a deep breath and steels himself to fully enter the bar and approach when someone grabs his arm.

“Oh, perfect! You’re just in time, someone dropped out and we’re one short,” the hostess says, and raises her brows at how quickly Kiyoomi snatches his arm back. 

“Don’t touch me,” comes the automatic reply. “I’m not here for the speed dating, I just need to talk to someone.” He flicks his eyes to Atsumu, who seems to have turned his attention to someone else.

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, we all want to talk to Miya-senshuu, but you’ll have to sign up first,” she says, holding out a clipboard and a pen.

Kiyoomi shakes his head. “No, you don’t understand, I’m—”

Overhead, a speaker that was playing music crackles before a voice announces that the speed dating is about to begin and that everyone should take a seat at the table with the same number as the one on their name tag. Kiyoomi looks at Atsumu again, watching him head to a table, and his heart sinks. He glances again at the hostess, who wiggles her brows at him expectantly and nudges the clipboard in his direction. For a moment Kiyoomi wonders how Atsumu even managed to find a bisexual speed dating event.

Kiyoomi sighs, reaches into his jacket pocket for his own pen, and writes his name on the list. 

The nametag she gives Kiyoomi has a number on it. He glances at the tables but finds that his starting table is...literally at the opposite end of where Atsumu is. Kiyoomi has to stop himself from groaning out loud before he drags his feet and sits across from someone he has no interest in talking to. He almost feels bad about the way she seems to perk up when he sits across from her, so he averts his eyes while the woman he spoke to explains the rules and the rotation order. 

There are twenty people altogether, and Kiyoomi runs the math in his head. Eleven people ahead of him before he rotates to Atsumu’s table, and he has to talk to them for five minutes each. Counting the time between rounds while everyone rotates and gets settled, he’s looking at at least an hour and five minutes before he can talk to Atsumu. His shoulders slump as the first bell goes off.

The first woman introduces herself as Yui. She’s a dental assistant. Kiyoomi glances down at her hands and hopes she’s washed them since she left work.

“Would you mind taking off your mask?” she asks, gesturing to her own face.

“Yes,” Kiyoomi responds, plainly.

“Oh.” 

They don’t talk much more. 

When the bell rings, Kiyoomi immediately shuffles to the next table, ready to get it over with. 

“Please tell me you’re a top,” one guy says immediately, smiling wide as he sits down. Kiyoomi blinks and doesn’t even bother looking at the guy’s name tag before he takes out his phone and looks at it for the remaining four minutes and 54 seconds.

“Aren’t you Sakusa Kiyoomi?” another guy asks, squinting.

“No,” is Sakusa Kiyoomi’s only answer, and he looks back over at Atsumu.

He’s laughing at something the person across from him said. It’s a good laugh, one of those real ones that Kiyoomi used to poke fun at—the one where he clutches his left pec and throws his head back and sounds almost like he’s cackling. He’s loud enough that Kiyoomi can hear him from a few tables over. Kiyoomi almost smiles, but thinks better of it, lest his current date think it’s for him.

During the last rotation before he reaches Atsumu, Kiyoomi can barely even be bothered to meet his date's eyes. His hands are clasped tightly in his lap, his leg bouncing and occasionally knocking into the underside of the table. She tries, she really does, to engage without being intrusive and doesn't even ask about the mask. She does stop talking when it's clear he's not listening, and stands. 

"I'm going to get another drink," she tells him, sliding her chair away from the table. "Would you like anything, Sakusa-san?"

Kiyoomi finally forces himself to look at her. She has a kind face. "No, thank you, Matsubara-san," he says, glancing at her nametag before cutting his eyes back to Atsumu.

She seems to follow his gaze and laughs. "He keeps looking at you too, you know," she says, and Kiyoomi drags his eyes away from Atsumu long enough to blink at her. "He's a bit more subtle about it, though."

Ha. Atsumu, the subtle one, and Kiyoomi, the idiot who maybe loves him. Strange times.

"Well, good luck with him," Matsubara says, retreating to the bar.

Kiyoomi watches her go, and thinks he may have enjoyed talking to her in other circumstances.

His heart pounds when the bell rings, standing abruptly and making his way to the next table, where Atsumu is waiting. The moment Kiyoomi sits, he can almost see the way Atsumu shuts down, his smile dropping into a pout and his eyes looking away as if he knows Kiyoomi will read him if he doesn't.

Kiyoomi glances at the digital timer on the wall as it begins counting down. Five minutes to repair eight months of damage. No problem, right?

"Why are ya here, Omi? This doesn't seem like your kinda thing."

"It's not," Kiyoomi replies, tucking his mask under his chin. "But I needed to talk to you."

Atsumu snorts, reaching for his glass. "I know ya think I'm dumb for tryin' so hard to meet someone. Ya don't need to rub it in like this."

"I can assure you that's not what I'm trying to do. I just don't—" Kiyoomi moves to rest his forearms on the table, but the surface feels sticky on his skin and he frowns, suddenly reminded of why he hates bars. "I don't think this is necessary if you'd just…ugh,” he says, feeling his pocket and frowning when he realizes his sanitizer is probably still in his car. Great. 

Atsumu huffs and rolls his eyes, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket and taking out his own small bottle of hand sanitizer. He pops the cap open and turns the bottle upside down, holding it out expectantly. 

Kiyoomi, eyes wide, puts his hands out and lets Atsumu squirt the sanitizer into his palms in practiced, familiar movements.

Four minutes.

"Y'know, Omi, I don't get why you've been giving me such a hard time about dating," he says, reaching for a napkin and pouring sanitizer onto it before wiping the surface of the table, lingering over the sticky spot Kiyoomi had touched. "I'm really tryin’, here," he continues, voice softening. "And it gets me out of yer hair."

It's only while Kiyoomi is spreading the sanitizer over his hands and forearms and watching Atsumu begin to do the same to his own hands that it really hits him. They haven't slept together in almost two months, but here Atsumu is, still carrying hand sanitizer (and not just any, but Kiyoomi's preferred brand) in his pocket. Kiyoomi thinks about Atsumu's Vabo-chan mug, currently missing from his cabinet, his fuzzy socks missing from the drawer, the hand-washing song and the way they moved in sync around his kitchen. 

All the little ways Atsumu had carved out a place for himself in Kiyoomi's life without him even noticing, without being pushy or intrusive, before he pulled away. It strikes Kiyoomi that he'd never even let himself notice what he had before it was gone, and for months wouldn't acknowledge the way something was clearly missing, all for...what? Pride? Hubris? Some misplaced sense of self-preservation?

Kiyoomi is such an idiot.

"I don't want you out of my hair, Atsumu."

Atsumu lets the hand sanitizer drop back into his pocket as he squints at Kiyoomi. "What?"

Kiyoomi knocks his foot against Atsumu's under the table. "How long were you going to make me wait before you told me?" he asks quietly. Three minutes. "I knew, but…"

A sigh. "I wasn't gonna tell ya at all."

"You should have. I think I needed the push."

Atsumu frowns. "You  _ hated  _ me, Omi."

Kiyoomi leans forward, lets his forearms rest on the table. "I tried to. I couldn't."

Atsumu leans back in his seat, sighing. "I was convenient. Ya said we weren't even—"

"I was wrong," Kiyoomi cuts in, a sense of urgency underlying his voice. "I...miss you." And fuck, it almost hurts his throat to force the words out. Is this why Atsumu never said anything?

Atsumu snorts. “M’sure there’s no shortage of people ready and willing to fuck ya, if that’s what yer lookin’ for,” he says, biting. Kiyoomi looks away as his words are thrown back in his face. Okay, he probably deserved that, too.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he replies, quietly. “You know as well as I do how much easier it is to lash out than to talk about actual feelings.”

“What feelings? I’m still not even sure why yer here,” Atsumu says, folding his arms across his chest. 

A sigh, Kiyoomi’s eyes falling to the wood grain of the table. “You know I’m no good at this, Atsumu.”

“You better get good at it, Omi,” Atsumu says, gesturing towards the timer with his elbow. “Yer runnin’ out of time.”

Kiyoomi glances at the timer. Two minutes. He swallows and tries to ignore the way he can hear his pulse thumping in his ears, throbbing through his fingertips.

“You’re not the first one who’s left, you know,” he says. “Because they wanted something I couldn’t give them.” Kiyoomi runs a hand through the curls on the back of his head, loops one around his finger and tugs, grounding him. “No matter how hard I tried to feel something for them, it just never happened.” 

Kiyoomi drops his hand to the table, clasping his opposite wrist. “But now I find that I don’t have to try. Not with you.”

“Omi—”

The hostess announces that they have sixty seconds before the round is over. Kiyoomi glances at her, frantic, and looks back at Atsumu, who sits wide-eyed.

“For most of my life I thought I was aromantic," Kiyoomi pushes on, swallowing down the rising fear. "But at the moment I can't even remember what it felt like to not love you," he says, voice shaky but without a hint of irony or humor.

Atsumu blinks, slack-jawed.

45 seconds. 

"I'm loud, Omi."

Kiyoomi nods. "Yes."

"I'm obnoxious," he replies, but he meets Kiyoomi's eyes dead on. 

"Sometimes," Kiyoomi agrees, tilting his head with a small, hopeful smile

Atsumu snorts at that. "I'm self-centered."

"So am I." They both laugh, and Atsumu finally seems to let himself lean in, meeting Kiyoomi halfway.

He's quieter, this time, his eyes looking down at the table, his hands drifting closer to Kiyoomi's. "I might be too much."

Kiyoomi has never been more sure of himself than when he answers, "Maybe I  _ want  _ too much," taking Atsumu's hands in his own. "Maybe too much is exactly what I need."

Atsumu blinks at him, his eyes scanning Kiyoomi's face as if looking for a tell. Kiyoomi can barely hear the noise around them beyond his own pulse pounding in his ears.

"Who knew you were such a sap?" Atsumu finally says, his smile watery as he laughs.

"It's news to me, too," Kiyoomi says, and Atsumu laughs again. One of his good ones. The soft one.

The bell signaling the end of the round rings out, the hostess’ voice reminding everyone of where to rotate, but neither of them move. 

"Let me take you home, Atsumu."

Atsumu nods, eyes wide. "Yeah. Let's go home."

-

As they step out of the bar, this time it's Kiyoomi who pulls Atsumu aside, one hand cupping his face to pull him into a kiss. Atsumu hums in surprise, his hands clinging to Kiyoomi's shoulders as Kiyoomi pulls him in by his waist. It occurs to Kiyoomi that they've never kissed just because, that it's always been a precursor to something else, a means to an end. Hell, they've never even kissed outside of their respective bedrooms, but here they are almost on display on a public sidewalk, where anyone in the bar could see if they cared to look.

Kiyoomi groans into Atsumu's mouth, a low, rumbling sound, and finds that he doesn't mind this. 

Atsumu sighs and pulls away, resting their foreheads together as he catches his breath.  _ "Oh,"  _ he says, wide-eyed. "That...that felt different."

Kiyoomi laughs and leans in again.

-

"Is it deleted?"

"Give it a second, Omi, jeez."

"Don't just deactivate, delete the profile entirely."

"Okay, okay, ya don't need ta badger me about it."

The bathwater is still slightly steaming as they soak in Kiyoomi's tub, Atsumu seated between his legs, phone in hand. Kiyoomi rests his chin on Atsumu's shoulder, eyes locked on the phone screen as Atsumu deletes the dating profile Akaashi had made for him.

"There," Atsumu says, showing Kiyoomi the screen with the waving hand emoji that reads,  _ We hope you're leaving because you met someone great!  _ "Happy?"

"Now unsubscribe from the speed dating emails."

"I think yer goin' a little overboard," Atsumu replies, but he opens his email and unsubscribes anyway.

"Now text Akaashi-san and tell him not to set you up with any more of his coworkers."

Atsumu looks back at Kiyoomi, frowning. "Right now?"

"Right now," Kiyoomi replies, wrapping his arms around Atsumu's waist until his back is pressed flush to Kiyoomi's chest.

Again, Atsumu sighs, but he still starts a new text to Akaashi, Kiyoomi watching the characters appear on the screen before Atsumu hits send.

"Do ya not trust me or somethin'?" Atsumu asks, changing the song playing on his phone before setting it aside on the floor next to the tub.

"I trust you," Kiyoomi says, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "I just want it to be very clear that you're mine and you're not available for any more dates."

From here, Kiyoomi has a perfect view of the flush that rises on Atsumu's cheeks and the back of his neck. "Jeez, Omi, how can ya just say stuff like that? Yer so embarrassing."

Kiyoomi smiles, leaning in to bite Atsumu's shoulder.

"Ow!" Atsumu yelps, the bathwater splashing as he tries to move away. "Warn a guy, would ya?" Kiyoomi only tightens his hold on Atsumu's waist, pulling him in to leave a trail of bites and kisses on his neck.

-

As the team dresses for their last game of the season, Atsumu sits on a bench in the locker room, mirror in hand, while Hinata applies makeup to the marks on his neck.

"You might need a better concealer, Tsumu," Hinata says, twisting his mouth as he applies another layer. 

"How big was this bug, anyway?" Bokuto chimes in, grinning. 

Atsumu glares at Kiyoomi, who's reaching under his shirt to apply deodorant. "Don't know, maybe 190 centimeters?"

"192," Kiyoomi deadpans, capping the deodorant and putting it back in his locker. He raises one eyebrow as he says, "Shall we discuss the 188 centimeter cat who attacked me?" He briefly lifts the side of his uniform shirt to show them the scratches on his side.

Atsumu buries his face in his hands. "How are ya  _ this  _ embarrassing, Omi?" he groans while Bokuto bursts into laughter, clapping Atsumu on the back while Hinata reaches for setting powder with a grin. 

"Huh," Inunaki says from a few lockers down, tilting his head. "That explains a lot."

Atsumu doesn't have a chance to clap back before Coach Foster ducks his head into the room to tell them to start warming up.

-

"I could never figure out these seatbelts," Atsumu says, fiddling with the metal clasp.

Kiyoomi hums, leaning over towards Atsumu's window seat as other passengers place their bags in overhead bins and settle into their seats. "There," he says once Atsumu's seatbelt is secured. 

"Thanks, Omi." Atsumu tilts his head to watch runway workers toss larger suitcases into the baggage compartment. "I've never been to Hokkaido, y'know."

"You've mentioned," Kiyoomi answers, pulling a book out of his carry-on bag.

And he has, maybe a dozen times since Kiyoomi asked Atsumu to accompany him to his sister's wedding. 

"I've heard it's real pretty."

"I'm sure that's why Kaori picked it."

Atsumu nods, fidgeting in his seat for a moment. "Do ya think the sakura could bloom early this year?"

Kiyoomi shrugs and slides his bookmark out of the pages. "It's always possible. This early in April it's more likely that it will snow."

Atsumu's head whips around to look at him. "Wait, really? Omi, I didn't pack a coat."

"That's too bad, Atsumu." Kiyoomi glances at Atsumu out of the corner of his eye. "But I'm sure we'll manage to keep you warm."

Atsumu's face flushes pink at that. Kiyoomi smirks behind his mask and hears a fake gagging sound from across the aisle.

"You guys are gross," Motoya says, making a show of ensuring the sickness bag is in his seat pocket. "I wish you still had your heads up your asses so I wouldn't have to hear stuff like that."

Atsumu laughs, leaning forward to look over at Motoya. "Sorry not sorry, Komori-kun."

Motoya rolls his eyes, but his smile belies his irritation. "And by the way, you owe me, Kiyoomi. I had to get a room on a different floor at the last minute because of you." 

"Send me an invoice," Kiyoomi answers plainly, and Motoya grunts, striking a conversation with the passenger next to him.

When takeoff begins, Kiyoomi tucks one finger into his book to hold the page and leans his head back in the seat, closing his eyes. Just before the wheels go up, he feels Atsumu's hand drop, palm up, into his lap, with Atsumu looking intently out of the window as the plane continues its ascent. 

Kiyoomi smiles and takes Atsumu's hand, not letting go until they touch down in Hokkaido.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for going on this ride with me yall!! 
> 
> Please don't hate Rei or Aiko, I have...plans for them...
> 
> [Deleted scene on Twitter!](https://twitter.com/mikeandgodsquad/status/1352491731435069440?s=20)

**Author's Note:**

> No one:  
> Seriously no one:  
> Not a soul:  
> Kiyoomi: But that's none of my business
> 
> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mikeandgodsquad) if you're 18+ and want to cry about 2d characters with me!
> 
> Also if there's anything here that anyone needs tagged please let me know! Second part should be up within the next week.


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